


Fight Me

by h_itoshi



Category: Hey! Say! JUMP
Genre: Bruised up Yabu, Expensive Takaki, Host club AU, M/M, Shameless PWP, So mentions of alcohol and fighting and blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 14:36:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16410317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/h_itoshi/pseuds/h_itoshi
Summary: “You're such an idiot.” Takaki says, voice a little shallow as he can't make the heated flutter in his chest go away, and his fingertips ease on the pressure, turning into a soft caress over the bruise on Yabu's shoulder.





	Fight Me

**Author's Note:**

> Uhm. Hi. What. Idek, I wrote this in two nights and I never really write any of these two?  
> Thank twitter friends for sudden inspiration I guess. What can I say, I like bloody idols.

Takaki's used to it. The hungry eyes, the attempts at suggestive touches after several drinks. It's part of the job to handle them, politely decline and discreetly avoid. To still smile and flirt but never let anything happen no matter how much champagne he has.

It's easy with women, because even if they're beautiful, they're not what he wants. It's harder with men. His speciality is women, but if men ask for him, he's not opposed. He just finds it more difficult, for several reasons.

Sometimes, they're too bold, they lean in to whisper filth in his ear, shamelessly lays hands on his thigh or shoulder or trail fingertips up his neck. Usually, he doesn't even handle those, management discreetly ordering them to leave. But sometimes, they're attractive, and he lets things get on the verge of too far.

Lets them whisper into his ear and still smiles, touches his own hair or neck as he feels their burning eyes on him. Even allows them to get just that little bit too close. It's fun, exciting, but he'd never let anyone go further than that. There's only one person for that.

But that one person isn't used to it.

Yabu's gorgeous, tall, facial features so chiseled he could be a living work of art. He's serious, but can be fun too, laugh until his eyes disappear, and Takaki loves pulling that out of him. Loves every part of him. Except his protectiveness. He somehow seems to find Takaki's honour to be something he needs to defend, a possessive trait that they've fought about several times in the past.

How Yabu could decide to date someone that sells their company for a living is beyond Takaki, since he wants all of his partner for himself. But clearly, Takaki's worth dealing with the jealousy, ignoring whatever he feels about Takaki's customers.

Until tonight.

There was a company of men, five or six, Takaki can't remember, that asked for him and Inoo. They were some highly ranked bankmen, all around 40, but one man was younger, with dark eyes and bangs falling into his face in a carelessly stylish way. His eyes stuck to Takaki the entire night, and Takaki let them, as usual. Watching eyes could do no harm, and he even humoured his audience by undoing another button of his already slutty shirt, claiming a warm night.

But there was something about those eyes. Something a little frightening, almost obsessed, and Takaki decided to make sure that man kept his distance. But one of his seniors went to the bathroom, and the vacant seat next to Takaki was taken by the younger man with the dark eyes.

Of course, he still had to smile, chat, but the man's entire presence gave off a bad vibe. After another round of drinks, the man leaned close, and Takaki had never been so grateful for his professionalism as a rape fantasy with him as the victim was described in his ear.

Takaki leaned away, laughing like there was something funny spoken to him, but took the first possible opportunity to lean over to quickly tell Inoo. It was safest that way, to ask a colleague to leave the table and get the customer thrown out. The procedure was swift, the manager for the night coming over to ask the man to please come along and have a look at his check, and he was gone.

What Takaki didn't notice until the man was guided outside, was the familiar face by the bar, setting a scotch glass down before leisurely leaving.

Takaki felt a cold rush through his blood as Yabu shrugged into his long black blazer, leaving without as much as a glance in his direction. Sometimes, Yabu would come to accompany him home when it neared closing time, but he had no idea tonight was one of those nights. He just hoped Yabu didn't hear about what happened.

But the second he steps inside his apartment almost an hour later, he knows. There's a drop of something red splashed onto the floor right inside the door, and after staring at it for a second, he breathes an irritated sigh and pulls the door closed behind him with a slam, ignoring the fact that's it's the early hours of the morning.

Yabu's shiny shoes are a little dusty with dirt, and the blazer thrown over a chair doesn't look anything like earlier tonight even in the darkness of the hallway.

Takaki kicks off his own shoes, shrugging out of his coat and hanging it before bracing himself and follows the blood trail into the living room, trying to deny any nerves making his heart beat a little faster.

Yabu sits on the couch with a kitchen towel against his jaw, phone in his other hand illuminating the swelling and blood at the corner of his mouth.

“... What did you do?” Takaki demands, and Yabu slowly turns to look at him, his eyes fierce as he drops his phone on the table like he didn't even care for it to begin with.

“Walked into a streetlight.” He blatantly lies, tone sarcastic and glare intense.

“You fought him, didn't you?!” Takaki raises his voice, irritation with a twinge of fear flooding him as he takes in Yabu's full appearance.

His previously perfectly styled hair is messy, sticky with blood by his left temple where he's busted an eyebrow, trails of blood dried on his cheek and in his eyelashes. The corner of his mouth is swollen but Takaki can't tell if the blood is from the eyebrow or the lips, but honestly, he doesn't care. The kitchen towel appears to hold ice as Yabu winces when he removes it from his jaw, a splendid bruise forming underneath smooth skin. There are also smaller wounds and bruises on his hands and arms.

“I walked into a streetlight.” Yabu withstands, and Takaki growls before heading to the bathroom, forcefully pulling open drawers to find some first aid stuff.

“You didn't have to do that, you idiot.” Takaki informs Yabu, sitting down next to him on the couch, careful not to stain his expensive jeans with blood.

“I know what he said to you.” Yabu says, fury boiling deep down under his controlled tone, but Takaki doesn't care.

“No you don't. Only I do.” Takaki replies sharply, and Yabu opens his mouth to protest, but ends up wincing as Takaki presses a gauze compress with lukewarm water against his split eyebrow. “Don't you dare whine that it hurts.”

“It doesn't hurt.” Yabu snaps, but his facial expression once again betrays him as Takaki firmly rubs away the blood to inspect the damage.

He's not a nurse, but he's gotten used to occasionally finding Yabu roughed up on his couch. He's learned how to tend to bruises and wounds the hard way.

Some sterile tape strips later, Yabu's face looks a little more normal, and Takaki grasps his wrist a little rougher than he has to in order to make a point.

Yabu stoically doesn't say anything, but Takaki knows it hurts. It's good that it does. Yabu deserves it.

“You can't just attack people who say creepy things to me. I sell myself for a living, you can't exactly go on and try to protect my pride or whatever you think you're doing.” Takaki lectures, firmly wrapping surgical tape around Yabu's ring- and little finger, that's way too swollen not to be sprained.

“I'm not letting anything happen to you.” Yabu says, staring straight into Takaki's eyes with an honesty that's so intense Takaki pulls the last tape layer a little tighter on purpose to make him break eye contact, but he doesn't. “Ever.”

The words affect him more than he wants to admit, something hot fluttering in his chest and he has to swallow before he looks up at Yabu looking pretty nicely patched up.

“Take off your shirt.” He orders, and Yabu blinks once, before struggling the slightest to obey, right arm clearly hurting.

There's a big bruise blooming out on Yabu's shoulder, a big scratch mark like from a brick wall on his side, but otherwise, he looks fine. No swellings or signs of anything bleeding inside of him.

Takaki pointedly raises his hand and presses fingertips into Yabu's bruise, making him jump back with a hiss.

“You're such an idiot.” Takaki repeats, voice a little shallow as he can't make the heated flutter in his chest go away, and his fingertips ease on the pressure, turning into a soft caress over the bruised area.

Yabu inhales sharply as the touch changes character, his eyes darkening and Takaki's very aware of Yabu's bare skin before him.

“Maybe I am.” Yabu agrees, and Takaki glances up at the admission, surprised to hear the words, but the next things he knows is a kiss.

It's a distraction from the subject, Takaki knows it, but he doesn't entirely mind. Deep down, he finds it hot that Yabu would get into a physical fight just for his sake, the bruises and wounds triggering something inside him that's so deeply rooted it feels genetic. Appreciating your man fighting and winning for you.

But he can't let Yabu get away with it too easily, and he flicks his tongue out to lick at Yabu's lips, feeling his jerk at the saliva stinging in his swollen lip.

Still, Yabu parts his lips to let the kiss grow dirtier, more tongue than lips, and Takaki feels himself losing any fight he had in him. Yabu's kisses are mindblowing, making him feel like he'd let Yabu do anything to him.

Takaki carefully graps Yabu's lower lip between his teeth in a final attempt at physically reprimanding him, catching in the dent in Yabu's lip and he tastes blood. Yabu groans, quickly pulling away, and Takaki finds himself on his back before he understands what happened, a strong hand on his shoulder holding him down against the couch cushions.

“Stop it.” Yabu growls, glaring down as he hovers above him, but Takaki doesn't listen, just raises his fingertips to the blood slowly seeping out of Yabu's lip.

Carefully, he smears the substance across Yabu's lip, painting it red like a lipstick would do, and finds himself wanting to lick it away.

But Yabu's patience wears thin before his, and hot, moist lips are pressed against his neck instead, a thigh firmly nudging Takaki's own apart, and he breathes a long sigh, giving up.

His fingers tangle in Yabu's hair and he shudders as he gets stuck in the coagulated blood in the strands and Yabu makes a noise against his skin.

He feels the sticky blood from Yabu's lips dry on his neck as Yabu nips at his collarbones through the open v of his shirt, and it's a little disgusting but mostly hot. One of his hands trails from Yabu's hair down his bruised shoulder, to his back, fingers clutching at defined muscles as Yabu gently sucks at his skin.

Takaki's first moan is drawn from his lips as Yabu's thigh grinds roughly against his own erection, growing harder by the second as Yabu's lips greedily nudges his shirt collar aside to reach more skin.

Yabu's response is a growl, and Takaki knows exactly what his sounds do to Yabu, the easiest way to manipulate him to get what he wants.

He lets another moan slip as he thrusts up to grind against Yabu's hip instead, not in the mood for any long foreplay, he just wants Yabu. Rough and hard and right now.

Yabu's grip on his shoulder loosens, Takaki's flesh prickling as his circulation returns in the area, and long fingers easily tugs open the buttons of his shirt that he suspects isn't entirely white anymore. Takaki considers sitting up to shrug out of it, but Yabu doesn't pause before moving on to the fastenings of his pants, and he arches into the touch, shirt edges sliding down his sides to bare his stomach and chest.

He moans as Yabu brushes the obvious bulge as he tugs at belt and zipper, and it only makes Yabu more careless, barely sitting back enough to be able to get Takaki's pants and underwear off one leg.

The couch is uncomfortable against his bare ass, but it only adds to the dirty feeling, half dressed and Yabu's dark, dark eyes watching him.

Takaki's hands falls from Yabu as Yabu sits up, a pained expression on his face as he reaches for something under the couch table. Takaki knows what it is and he hates being so predictable that Yabu stashed lube in advance. But as he looks up at Yabu, bruised up and exuding testosterone, he wonders if there's anyone that _wouldn't_ fuck him in the blink of an eye.

Yabu pops the cap of the bottle, eyes locked to Takaki's as he does, like he'd swallow him whole if he could, and it makes Takaki shift, making use of his unoccupied hands.

Yabu's eyes narrow as Takaki slips one hand into his own hair, the other smearing what's left of the stickiness at his collarbone, and Takaki can't help the smug smile grazing his lips at the attention, happy to put on a show. He runs one hand through his hair, the other flicking his own nipple, a stuttered breath slipping out and Yabu practially throws the bottle in his hand aside to forcefully grab Takaki's thigh.

The first slick finger entering him is met with resistance, and Takaki tries to will his body to relax faster, but at the same time it feels sickeningly good when Yabu has to work a little for it, wriggling and stroking to ease him up.

Takaki moans freely, legs spreading on their own and Yabu leans down to press heated kisses against the inside of his knee and thigh as the number of fingers increase.

When there's three of them spreading inside of him, Takaki feels the flush on his cheeks and his breathing is shallow, any dignity gone as his blood is racing.

“Come on, just fuck me.” He complains, voice coming out much whinier than he'd like, but it earns him a frustrated sound from Yabu and the fingers withdraw.

He watches as Yabu's sticky fingers unzip his own pants, shoving them down, watches how deliciously hard his cock is as it springs free, how Yabu's muscles shift as he reaches for the discarded bottle of lube.

A tiny, knowing smile finds Yabu's lips as he wraps his lubed hand around himself, making a show out of stroking it onto himself, eyes closing as his face expresses bliss.

Takaki doesn't intend to make a sound, but his muscles clench so hard on their own at the vision of roughed up, turned on Yabu touching himself that a pathetic little whine comes out anyway.

It has Yabu's eyes slitting open, the smile returning to his lips as he looks down at Takaki's expression.

That's about all Takaki can take, and he pushes himself up enough to grasp Yabu's arm, tugging him down so roughly Yabu has to catch himself not to crush him.

“Now.” He growls, and Yabu's lips fuse to his as he shifts, the wet tip of an erection finally touching his entrance.

Takaki moans shamelessly into the kiss as Yabu starts sliding inside him, so long it feels like he never ends and it's fucking perfect. His kiss is sloppy, unfocused, but he still manages to slip his tongue against the wound, tasting blood once more, and Yabu's hiss before he breaks the kiss again.

He clearly settles that it hurts to much to kiss, lips trailing messy kisses down Takaki's temple, ear, jaw instead, and it leaves Takaki's mouth free to let out whatever sounds it wants as Yabu slowly gives a first, shallow thrust.

Takaki clutches at Yabu's shoulders, not caring about the bruise even if Yabu shifts uncomfortably, as his thrusts quickly gain momentum and depth.

Yabu's breath against his skin is heated, little grunts and moans growing in frequency and Takaki tilts his head to reach him, lips brushing that bruised jaw. The following thrust is harder, involuntary, but Takaki whimpers, fingers clawing at Yabu's skin because that was _perfect_ , and Yabu seems to notice.

He hoists himself up onto his elbows, keeping the angle, and Takaki sees stars at the corners of his closed eyes, clutching at Yabu's biceps because they happen to be the closest thing.

“Touch yourself.” Yabu tells him, voice low and breathy, and Takaki whines but obeys, his whole body tensing up as he wraps fingers around his own aching erection.

He feels Yabu shift above him, hears the couch creak, and he barely slits his eyes open before there's a gentle kiss brushed against his lips, more breath than contact, but it's all he needs.

Takaki's not even sure what sound he makes through his orgasm but he vaguely hears it as white hot heat gushes through his body for a few blissful moments, hot liquid spilling onto his own stomach as he contracts so tightly around Yabu that there's a guttural groan above him.

He blinks his eyes open as his body slowly relaxes, seeing Yabu's strained expression, eyes squeezed shut and arms holding himself up shaking the slightest.

Carefully, Takaki raises a hand, brushing fingertips against the healthy half of Yabu's face, then continues to his hair for leverage enough to pull him down and kiss him. He's nice this time, the kiss a strange angle to avoid the worst swelling, and a surprised gasp comes out of him as Yabu's hips stutter in a thrust, but he doesn't mind.

Yabu seems to consider his lack of protest permission to continue, thrusts quickly picking up again and Takaki somehow enjoys the overstimulation, the slight pain, Yabu's facial expression as he starts to lose it.

He strokes Yabu's face as he comes, slowly rolling his own hips up as he feels heat spreading inside him, and it's equal parts gross and hot.

Yabu groans tiredly, falling onto Takaki's chest as he catches his breath, and Takaki mindlessly picks at the coagulated blood in his hair, carefully separating the locks.

“That hurts.” Yabu speaks up after a little while, and Takaki feels the smile spreading on his lips.

“Then maybe you shouldn't fight.” He says pointedly, and Yabu's only response is another groan.

But at least he stops complaining.

 

 

~*~


End file.
